


Bleed For Your Sins

by castielsstarr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bloodplay, Bondage, Cutting, Depressed Dean, Knifeplay, M/M, Overstimulation, Painplay, Penance - Freeform, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6139068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsstarr/pseuds/castielsstarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets back from hell, but he's not ok. He's having nightmares of the things he did and needs Sam to hurt him to make him feel better. Sam's a little disturbed that he wants to hurt his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleed For Your Sins

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I basically drunk-wrote half of this thing, so if it's not as good, that's why. And if you think it is good, well, then let me know, because I'm not above wanting my ego stroked. The next thing I post won't be so angst-riddled, I promise. Most of the idea for this came from the godsend that is [thedropoutandthejunkie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie) who is constantly feeding me "what if" ideas that I then decide to elaborate on.

After hell, everything had been different for Dean, but Sam was the one who noticed. He would ask his brother if he was ok, if there was anything he could do for him. Dean would mutter that he was “fine, Sammy,” and, no, there was nothing he could do because nothing was wrong. But, Dean’s behavior had changed so much that Sam couldn’t help worrying.

Dean didn’t rock out to his music in the car, just turned the volume down to a normal level without once nodding his head to the beat. He didn’t have an appetite for burgers or anything else full of fat and grease; most days he wouldn’t eat anything at all. Sam was sometimes able to get him to eat a spoonful or two of his own oatmeal at breakfast, but nothing more. Dean didn’t want to take on any hunts, either. He just spent most of his days asleep or mindlessly staring into space, since that was the only time he could rest.

The worst part of it all, the part that Sam couldn’t deal with, was that Dean didn’t want him.

The first few nights of having him home, Sam barely slept. He kept watch over his older brother while he tossed fitfully, turning and crying out through his dreams. Some nights Sam’s hands and words were enough to soothe him, ease him back to barely resting, but others he still woke screaming. Tears running down his face muttering things that didn’t quite make sense, and some that sounded like, “How could I?”

Sam would pull him up to sitting, arms wrapped tight around him, one across his shoulders, the other over his waist. Chest to back with Dean between his thighs, they would sit like that, Sam murmuring lightly in his ear, just rocking, rocking, rocking. The noises Dean made were pained—an animal dragged behind a car or beaten violently. It was a scared, hurt sound and it pulled at Sam’s heart—tried to rip it out through his throat—knowing that he had been the one that caused this. Dean had been down there because of him. It didn’t hurt worse than what Dean was feeling, so Sam refused to let himself cry then.

Eventually, Dean would quiet, but Sam could still feel the tears as they dripped from his older brother’s chin onto his arm. He kept up a steady string of speech when he was able to catch his breath, but Sam couldn’t get all the whispers because the thick saliva in Dean’s mouth muffled it. “Didn’t want… made me… couldn’t… stop, please… innocent… shouldn’t have… fucking damaged… disappoint you.” It took hours for him to settle.

“It’s ok, Dean. It’s ok. I’ve got you. You’re home, safe.” He placed a soft kiss to Dean’s neck. “You’re with me and I’ll protect you. He can’t hurt you anymore.” 

Sam was baffled when Dean scrambled out of his hold and snarled at him. He reached for him, but Dean bit out, “Don’t fucking touch me. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

After that, Dean took to sleeping on the couch. Sam didn’t know what he had done to upset him, but when the cries and whimpers would start, Sam would rush out of their bedroom to be by his side, to help however he could. Dean just yelled at him to stop, to leave him alone, to fuck off and stop wasting time on him.

Sam was persistent in the beginning, never wanting to leave Dean, but he could only take so much of Dean pushing him away before he started to believe that his brother really didn’t want him anymore. The next time he cried out, Sam didn’t come. He stayed on their—his—bed, curled into himself, biting the flesh of his hand to keep from crying with—for—his brother. Dean yelled louder still and Sam’s teeth sunk in further, the metallic tang of blood flooding his tongue.

Not long after Dean calmed with a final whimper, Sam’s control broke and the tears poured down his face, whether his eyes were open or shut. They kept coming and he couldn’t see; couldn’t hear over the blood rushing through his ears. He sobbed until he was dry and his eyes hurt. Never once in his life had he felt so useless. Sam passed out from emotional exhaustion more than he fell asleep, but it kept him out for a while.

When he awoke next a few hours later, he could feel the bed dipping beside him and the heat of a body moving closer and closer. Sam’s eyes opened quickly, immediately focusing on his brother’s face. The expression was the same from the days before—vacant and a little bit disturbed—but today it also held sadness. In respect to Dean’s wishes, and maybe a slight bit of petulance from being unwanted, Sam rolled over away from him, giving him the requested space. What he felt were fingertips gently brushing over the joint of shoulder and arm.

“Sammy?” The pain in Dean’s voice almost made him reconsider keeping his back to his brother.

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry.” That was the only thing he said for a few moments before, “I messed up really bad, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok, De—”

“No, no, it isn’t ok at all, and I need you, of all people, to see that. You need to know, Sam, need to know the truth.” His hand fisted in the back of Sam’s t-shirt as he talked slowly, calculated. “The pain I went through down there, it’s… it’s not what you think.”

“Can I, um… Can I turn over?”

Dean hesitated. “No, Sammy. I need you to stay where you are. If I have to see your face while I say this, I’m never going to get it out. Do you understand?”

Sam didn’t, but he nodded.

“The pain was unimaginable, and it wa-wasn’t just physical.” Sam could hear his breath shaking as he tried to steady himself. “He was able to make things seem so lifelike, I don’t know how. But he like—h-he liked to—”

“Easy, Dean.” Sam’s voice was soft and low, like a he was trying to coax a wounded dog from hiding.

“He kept showing me images of you. At first it was you being killed, him being the one torturing you, and it was too much. You were screaming for me to help you, and for all I knew, it was you. I couldn’t take it anymore and he—Alastair—he told me that he would stop if I just picked up where he left off. If I started torturing people down there.

“And I broke, Sammy. I wasn’t strong enough and I couldn’t say ‘no, this isn’t real’. I had to do it. I hopped right down and took his blade from him. All those people, so many of them. I hurt them, I made them bleed and scream and beg for a fucking mercy they knew they weren’t going to get. They became afraid of me, of the pain I could cause. And, god, Sammy, I _liked_ it.”

Dean leaned in until his face was resting against Sam’s back where both fists were balled in his t-shirt, gripping tight like if he let go, he would lose Sam. He was shaking and sobbing—deep, gut-wrenching sounds—but Sam knew that if he reached back to comfort him, Dean would run again. So he stayed put, letting his brother’s tears soak into the fabric, making it cling to his skin. Sam could feel more than hear the litany of “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” pressed against his back.

After a long time, Sam found the words. “Dean, listen to me. You did what anyone would have done given the circumstances. You fought for as long as you could, but no one could expect you to hold out forever. Dean, you need to forgi—”

“Don’t you say it,” he spat out. “Just don’t, because I can’t do it. What I did, it wasn’t right. It was… it was evil, Sam. And I just don’t deserve forgiveness. I don’t deserve redemption, I don’t deserve any of it. I don’t deserve to be here right now and I don’t deserve _you_.”

That was it. Sam squirmed his way out of Dean’s hold and turned over to face him, pulling him immediately into his arms. He wrapped Dean up as tight as he could, hid those glassy, green eyes and wet cheeks in the space at his shoulder between his jaw and the pillow. Dean clutched his younger brother to him, bodies creating a resonating heat between them.

Sam held him tight for a long time, waiting for Dean to move away first. When he finally did, his cheeks were flushed bright and it wasn’t just warmth from the contact or redness from crying. This was…

Green eyes blinked in surprise. “I—oh, god.”

“Dean, what is it?” His brother stayed quiet, his expression mortified, horrified, terrified, of what would come out of his mouth if he opened it. Sam knew, though. He always knew. “What do you need me to do?”

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“Dean.” Sam caught him under the jaw, forcing him to hold his gaze. “Tell me what you need.” His voice was calm, slow, and commanding. It made Dean shiver.

“I need you to hurt me. The way he used to. Make me pay for what I did to those people.”

Sam released his grip and let Dean willingly keep eye contact or not. They kept staring into the depths of one another, each searching for something they weren’t going to find. Dean wanted to see his brother’s hatred, wanted him to be angry for the atrocities Dean had committed, but he found only intense love. Sam was trying to find a way out of this that didn’t involve physically harming his brother, a man who had come back from hell physically unscarred.

“Ok.” Sam’s voice quieted. “I can do that, if it’s what you really need.”

“Please, Sam. Please.” He dissolved into tears again. “I'm so sorry.”

“Shh, big brother. I’ll take care of you.”

Sam knew exactly what he needed and moved to fetch it from the closet. A length of rope—red—thick enough to hold him, but skinny enough to show off the intricate loops that Sam was capable of. His dick was starting to stir in his boxers, but he tried to ignore it as best he could. That’s not what this was about.

When Dean caught sight of the coil of rope in Sam’s hand, he immediately stretched himself out on the bed, arms and legs splayed to the corners. His little brother straddled his hips and began wrapping and tying knots across his torso. Dean’s breathing hitched every time another knot was fastened and settled against his skin and Sam couldn’t stop his curiosity.

“Was this how he did it? He tied you up spread out like this, bare skin his canvas?"

"Yes," Dean whispered and let Sam fasten his right wrist down to the bed. It wasn't until the other was bound, too, that the shivering started.

Sam picked up on it immediately and placed a comforting hand on his flank. It only made the tremors worse. "Dean, hey, you ok?"

"It's fine, it's good."

"Are you... scared?"

"No. I know it's you. I know you're just doing what I asked."

"Should I?" Sam motioned with the rope to Dean's legs. 

He nodded, but hesitated. "Just... take my boxers off first?"

Sam's eyes turned dark. Oh god, what if Alastair... "Did he—Dean, you have to tell me if he did—fuck, I—"

"Sam." Dean's voice took control, calming his thoughts and bringing him back to focus. "He didn't. He spared me that. It's just… they're already getting a little uncomfortable."

Dean shifted his hips, pushing up against his brother, drawing Sam's attention down to where Dean's cock was starting to harden against his backside.

"O-oh." He moved himself from Dean's waist and helped remove the fabric, his length hardening more at the touch of the colder air. "This is turning you on?"

He nodded and turned his head away, face flushed red.

"It's ok," Sam soothed and placed a few short kisses to his belly. "Do you want me to...?" He kissed right over his groin, so close to the base of his dick. 

"N-no. Please, my legs."

Sam stroked his thumb over Dean's hip before moving down with the rope to fasten his legs. The knots were just as intricate as the ones on his torso, each one pulling him closer and closer to immobility. 

With both legs finally secured, Dean pulled against the ropes, testing their hold. He had maybe an inch of give and the feeling of being open and surrendered made him moan. Acutely aware of the rock hard length between his legs, he turned his face to Sam. He really looked at him, saw the concentration on his face, and shivered.

"Dean, what do you need?" He repeated.

His eyes were welling wet again, and the way Dean looked so vulnerable like this, it only served to make Sam's cock swell. He didn't move to adjust himself, though. Didn't want to draw any attention to it—away from Dean. It took a minute for his older brother to choke out the words.

"Pain. Anyway you can think of. Hit me, bite me, cut me, I don't care, just, please, hurt me." The tears were starting to fall from the corners of his eyes as he set his head back to the bed.

Sam took a deep breath to steady himself before landing a sharp blow to the top of Dean's right thigh. Based on the sound, it was hard, but not quite enough, though Dean did grunt in discomfort at it. He took the same hit, a little harder and landing a little more toward Dean's inner thigh and he cried out. Sam landed a matching one to the opposite leg and Dean's entire body jerked, his cock letting out a small bead of precome.

"Fuck, yes, like that. Anything you want to do, Sam. I can take it—need to take it, please."

To hear Dean beg like that, all whimpered words and tears, it was a lot for Sam. He actually _wanted_ to hurt Dean. He could feel from the way his boxers were sticking just slightly to the tip of his cock when he shifted his hips that he was getting just as wet as Dean from this. He wasn't going to be able to resist him.

"Dean, I—did you mean it? Can I cut you?" God, he was going to regret saying this to his brother. It was a surefire way to convince him and he knew that it was a cheap shot, but it turned out he needed it almost as badly as Dean. His eyes and voice darkened with lust. "Can I mark you so you never forget what you did?"

The wanton moan Dean let out was answer enough, but he gasped out a "yes," before the shivers of desire overtook his body again. 

Sam fished out his smaller knife from where it lived under the side of the mattress. He had a bigger one that was closer to his pillow, but this one had resided here for a long time. The light glinted off of the blade as he flicked it open and held it in front of Dean's face for him to observe. The moans turned to whimpers and soft cries of, "please, please, please."

He set the blade to the flesh of his older brother's inner thigh, waiting, giving him one more chance to back out, to say he didn't want this. When he didn't move, didn't shake his head, Sam sunk the blade into his leg, slowly dragging it downward. 

Dean cried out, clearly in pain, but his cock jerked between his legs. He was panting as Sam finished the cut, taking the blade from his leg completely. There was a slight line of red along the edge of the blade where his blood seeped out. It was sharp, so the cut was clean, flesh parted neatly. It wasn't deep enough to permanently injure, but enough to scar.

"Is this what you need?" He moved the blade lower, toward Dean's knee and placed two parallel lines. "Feel what they felt?"

The tears were completely obstructing Dean's vision, not that he would be able to see the marks from this position, anyhow. A few more were placed into his skin—different angles in different spots along his thigh—and he could no longer tell what it was that his little brother was doing.

A thumb wiped away some of the tears clearing his vision. "Need you to see me, Dean. Need you to look at me and know what you did to them. How you hurt them." One hand dipped down to swirl that slickness around the head of his cock. "Did hurting them turn you on? Did it make you so dripping wet like this?" Another cut and instead of crying in pain, Dean's sorrow came out on a moan.

Sam had to grip himself rough through his boxers to keep from creaming his shorts right there. The way Dean was bucking against his bonds, writhing on the bed, trying to get any friction he could on his flushed cock, it was one of the most erotic things Sam had ever seen. It didn’t seem like either of them were going to last very long.

The next cut he dug in rough and hard. “Answer me. Did it get you hot, seeing them in pain caused by your hand?”

“Yes! God, yes, it did.” Sam continued placing small incisions on Dean’s inner thigh until he started panting and whimpering uncontrollably.

“What you did to them, Dean, it wasn’t your fault.”

“W-what?” He expected Sam to keep trash talking him, tearing him down piece by filthy and unworthy piece, but he didn’t.

Another cut and Dean’s tears continued. “Dean, look at me. I forgive you.” Sam placed another cut—Dean couldn’t tell if it was going to be the last or not—before ducking his head out of Dean’s sight.

“Oh, god, Sam! Please don’t stop, oh, _fuck_.”

Sam’s lips and tongue were tracing faintly over the bleeding lines in Dean’s leg. The more Dean begged for it, though, the harder he pressed until he had his mouth latched around one of the cuts and he was sucking sharply, gathering blood in his mouth.

Dean was straining and struggling, a constant whine coming from him. “Shit, shit, I’m gonna come. Sam, I—”

He pulled his head up enough for his brother to see, lips and chin slicked in red. “Do it,” he said, voice laced with that command that Dean needed. Sam ducked his head to continue sucking on the different lines in Dean’s leg as the older man rode out his completely untouched orgasm. It was harder and more violent than any he’d had before, each shot of come landing high on his chest, feeling like it was being pulled from him. His hips pumped upward what little they could manage as he started to come down.

Sam slid his hand across the all of the marks he made on Dean, collecting their wetness before wrapping his palm around Dean’s cock and stroking him hard. The scream was deep and loud as Dean tried to squirm away from him, but his cock let out another two strings of come before he collapsed into a whimpering, exhausted, puddle.

He released his grip and began working to quickly untie the ropes. He needed Dean to see his leg while it was still fresh and he was going to need to clean them both up soon. Each knot that Sam undid, Dean shivered, head lolling about while Sam worked.

“Dean, hey, look at me.” His head turned toward the noise, eyes fluttering. “Good, stay with me until I get these off and I can take care of you, ok?

“‘Kay,” Was all Dean managed to get out with his barely functioning mouth.

With all of the knots undone and the rope removed from his body, Sam helped him up to sitting, supporting most of his weight. “Ok, I want you to look at your leg. This is on your body forever now. I need you to try to start believing it.”

The tears returned fresh to Dean’s eyes as he saw blood still trickling from the cuts. Except they weren’t just cuts. They were letters. Letters that spelled out “forgiven” across the pale skin of his inner thigh.

Sam leaned in close to his brother’s ear, breath ghosting over skin and hair as he whispered to him, “Dean Winchester, you survived hell and came back whole. You are forgiven.”

Even the tears from all the frightful dreams those many nights before couldn’t compare to the ones now.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on Tumblr, I promise I don't bite:  
> SPN NSFW Multi-ship sideblog: [wingedwincest.tumblr.com](http://www.wingedwincest.tumblr.com)  
> Main blog: [castielsstarr.tumblr.com](http://www.castielsstarr.tumblr.com)


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